Although His Height Be Taken
by Equestrienne Dreams
Summary: He is in love and she is terrified and always, always they've been heading for this. Phyllis Baxter/Joseph Molesley, in the wake of 6x07.


"Oh, you're back then!" He settles next to her in the empty hall, hands trembling, ready with a smile to blurt out the news, maybe to dare to ask -

A smile that drops right off his face when he catches sight of hers.

"Oh, Mr Molesley," she whispers, eyes huge and hurt.

"Miss Baxter." He reaches out on instinct, covers her hand with both of his. "Are you ill? Shall I fetch you something?"

"No." She shakes her head. "I thank you, truly, but I'm not ill. I - there was an accident. At the race."

His hands clamp down on hers, involuntarily. "Mr Talbot?"

"Is fine," she says, her cheeks still pale. "It was a friend of his, he - there was an explosion, a terrible - but I don't want to think about it now." Her hand turns, palm upward now, to curl her fingers around his, and manages a smile. "You did sound happy, when you came in."

"Oh." He shakes his head. "I was, I am, but you - after the accident - "

"No," she says again. "Please, if you wish, do tell me. I daresay I could use some good news."

"If you wish." He bows his head, gathering his courage. "I spoke to Mr Dawes, the other day."

Her breath catches. He can't look her in the eyes, glues his gaze to the table; he needs all his strength to say this, to change his world again. "He's asked me to join the teaching staff at the school."

Gently, her free hand reaches out -

"Oh!" says a startled feminine voice, and he looks up, startled, to see Anna in the doorway.

"Mrs Bates, if you could give us a moment," Miss Baxter says, quite sharply.

"Of course," says Anna, her eyes wide, and she retreats down the hallway.

His gaze follows her - until a gentle, firm hand takes his chin, and the only woman still in the room turns his gaze to meet hers. "Joseph," she says, and he thinks her voice is shaking. "Did he really? Oh, I'm so pleased for you!"

"Are you?"

"Yes, of course! I know how much you've wanted it."

"But won't you - "

 _Stupid man! Don't ask questions to which you don't want an answer!_

"Won't I what?" Is that - is that fear in her eyes?

"Miss me?" The words squeak out without his permission, and her eyes darken, suddenly sad.

"More than I can say," she says, and swallows hard. "But I could never keep you from your dreams."

He studies her eyes for a moment more - and there, he finds his courage.

"Phyllis," he says, for the first time, the name so strange, so _right_ on his lips, and her eyes fly open like a startled fawn's. "Do I presume too much - I can no longer imagine - Miss Baxter. _Phyllis._ Do I presume too much to ask for your hand in marriage?"

She draws away from him, turning away, her face crumpling, and his own heart crumples with it.

"You don't," she whispers, through what sounds like tears. "You don't presume too much to ask. But I would presume far, far too much to accept."

" _I beg your pardon?"_

"I am a _convict,_ Mr Molesley!" she cries, swinging round to face him again, her eyes wide and dark and hurt. "And not mistakenly! You have a responsibility to the school now, to the children you teach - "

"And you think that my marrying you would somehow betray that?" His words are incredulous, but all he can see is her face.

"What part of 'convict' have I failed to make plain?" she cries softly, mindful still despite the empty room. "I -"

" _Stop."_ He barks out the word, firm and commanding, and she goes silent.

He takes a deep breath, casts a prayer to the heavens, and takes both her hands in his. "I'm sorry," he says, far more gently this time. "I should have begun with this. Phyllis Marjory Baxter, I love you. I have loved you almost from the moment I met you, and I will never love anyone else. I don't care about what you did, or who you were. The only thing that will ever matter to me is what you _do_ , and who you _are._ I _know_ you, your kindness and your gentleness and your unbelievable strength, and _I love you._

 _"_ If you truly do not wish to be my wife because you do not love _me,_ then I will of course let you go, though it break my heart. But if your only concern is your past, or my reputation - then please. _'Let us not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments.'_ Trust me, if you cannot trust yourself." Gently, he releases one of her hands to wick away the tears pouring down her cheeks. "I love you. I want to marry you. If you want me too, then please, for the love of God, say yes."

For a moment she doesn't move, doesn't speak, and he fears that all his pleas might be in vain - but then her lips are on his, and there are no questions left in his mind at all.

"Yes," she whispers against his lips, arms winding around his neck, tears still tracking down her cheeks. "Yes. _Yes._ Oh, please, God, _yes._ "

She pulls away long enough to look him in the eyes - dark brown glowing now, face wreathed in smiles, red-cheeked and salty and puffy-eyed from crying, and she is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. "I love you," she says, the words shimmering with happiness almost as brightly as her eyes, and laughs into his kiss when he responds the only way he knows how.

Explaining their unseemly display to an unamused Carson is absolutely, wholly, entirely worth it.


End file.
